


Who are you?

by saya4haji



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, There is always a bigger fish in the sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saya4haji/pseuds/saya4haji
Summary: Daisy is sent by Coulson to have a chat with a powered person who has popped up on their radar.Daisy encounters the universal reality that in any ocean, there is always a bigger fish. This bigger fish just might impart some wisdom though.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Who are you?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhino (RhinoMouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoMouse/gifts).



> This is a very strange one. I was discussing bullies with my other half and the realities of how they inevitably meet someone bigger or more cunning than them. This was the odd result.

The melody of ‘Secret Agent Man’ blares out across the bullpen of the BAU.

Daisy smiles happily as she pulls her phone from her jeans, “Hello Daddio, what’s the sitch?”

Coulson’s dry, husky laughter comes down the line, “Hello Agent Daisy Coulson. The situation is clear skies and tremors free.”

Daisy relaxes at the coded message. The mission he wants her for isn’t critical and she can stay at her desk to hear the details. Simultaneously, Daisy feels the thrill of pleasure at the hidden pride in Coulson’s voice as he calls her Agent Daisy Coulson. It is subtle, but Daisy can hear it every time he says it.

Daisy leans back in her swivel chair, her feet kick up on the cheap desk. The team is working on post case paperwork, but Daisy isn’t fooled that they aren’t listening in, even peripherally, to her call.

“Cool, so what is it you need me to do that would make you break your ‘let’s wrap Daisy in cotton wool’ vow?”

Coulson sighs down the line at the old argument, “Still sarcastic as ever I see.”

Daisy grins wickedly, “You would think I had been replaced by pod people or LMDs if I wasn’t. Besides, you know I am only playing. I know now why I am here and I even sort of agree. So, break the monotony of paperwork for me, what can I do for you?”

Coulson is silent for a moment, “I need you to hop a plane to Boston and go have a chat with someone.”

Daisy’s brows scrunch, “A chat or a _chat_?”

Emily, who is sitting at the desk opposite Daisy, stiffens minutely. If it weren’t for her powers Daisy wouldn’t have caught the reaction.

Coulson sounds exasperated when he responds, “Stop playing with your team Daisy. You know I mean an actual garden variety chat. Maybe over tea or a burger. If it was the other kind of _chat_ I wouldn’t have called you on this line, or while you are sitting amongst a bunch of vanilla Feds.”

Daisy pouts, “A chat. How dull. Why am I the one getting lumbered with grunt work and what is this hypothetical conversation meant to discover?”

Once again Coulson hesitates, and Daisy begins to become concerned. This kind of hesitance makes Daisy think this job is more important than Coulson is letting on.

“I have already had a conversation with the individual I want you to meet. I think they are on the level but I want a second opinion.”

Daisy drops her feet and waves to Hotch up in his office as she starts heading for the elevator. Hotch nods and makes a phone gesture with his hand. He is now used to Daisy needing to pop off for other missions and her giving him short notice.

“And why am I the one you want this second opinion from?” Daisy enquires persistently.

Coulson mutters something under his breath, “Look. This individual came on our radar recently, and in the future I don’t remember meeting or hearing of them. I want to make sure that their anonymity is because they are the non-threat they appear rather than because they are some sort of sleeper, or ticking time bomb we stumbled upon. Or worse, a ripple we caused by our existence here.”

Daisy feels her heartbeat pound more quickly now as she sees the potential problems, “You still haven’t said why you want me specifically to give you a second opinion. And you are being purposefully vague about what brought this individual onto your radar.”

The elevator descends rapidly, and Daisy is glad that no other agents are riding with her. Daisy’s phone chirps a tone indicating an e-mail.

“I have sent you the encrypted incident report. In brief, a random gang attack occurred in New York last week on a young woman named Bernadette O’Neill. NYPD believe the attack was an initiation rite of a small time gang called the DBD’s. The victim was terrorised, robbed and beaten. They were not the first victim of this gang, but it is looking like they will be the last. Unfortunately for this gang, young Bernadette holds some familial bond we are, as yet, not fully aware of to the individual I want you to have a chat with. This individual visited Bernadette in the hospital while she was still unconscious and then went off the grid for the next six days until she took a flight back to Boston. In those six days, the local hospitals surrounding the DBD territory saw a surge in emergency admissions. To date we have tracked the admission of 108 DBD gang members and known associates from the ages of 16 to 42 years who were admitted with multiple broken bones and head traumas. Most will walk with limps for the rest of their lives.”

Daisy’s mind whirls with the information she has been given. Tracking a single gang inside a week isn’t impossible. Time consuming and resource heavy, sure, but not impossible. Rooting them out in a heavily populated urban area surrounded by civilians would be difficult though.

“Casualties?” Daisy asks clinically.

“None. No civilian or gang casualties. As far as we can tell, none of the gang managed to fight back. Not a single shot,” Coulson admits calmly.

Daisy is not calm. Even with all her training and powers she couldn’t have dismantled such a gang without the risk of friendly fire or at least one of the gangbangers getting a shot off. Something cold races down Daisy’s spine.

“You spoke to this person? Without me there?” Daisy whispers worriedly.

“Yes. I judged that they were mission orientated and not a threat unless threatened. Taking reinforcements, especially someone like you, could have escalated the situation.”

Daisy clenches her hand around her phone, “What exactly is this individual and why am I going to speak to them?”

“They’re an Omega Daisy, like you. I’m not sure what their full power set is, just that they remind me of you. I don’t want the details in any file that could lead back to them but I am sure in the course of your hat you will have the same enlightening demonstration as I did. I was hoping you could verify my thoughts about them. I think that this individual has omega level power but like Bruce Banner, won’t become a threat unless we push. I just want you to have a chat with them. Verify my thoughts. I said I would have an associate drop by to speak with them, someone who might be more on their level.”

Daisy sucks in a breath as the word ‘omega’ races through her mind. Omega is the designation for a powered person with the ability to be a global level threat. The fact such a being only broke some bones and put someone in the hospital is reassuring. It indicates control. A lot of control.

“I’ll read the file and take the first plane,” Daisy whispers back.

“Good. Call me for a verbal report as soon as you’re done. Tread lightly Daisy and be safe.”

Coulson hangs up before she can respond.

Walking out of the elevator and heading for her SUV, Daisy scrolls through her phone and pulls up the report Coulson has sent. The files are encrypted to high heaven and back, but the first line catches her eye,

Subject name: Maeve Gealladh

* * *

Daisy stretches as she climbs out of the hired Prius. The airport car rental was sorely lacking in choice and Daisy was on the clock so the little tin can was the best she could muster. Just the thought of the tactical disadvantage such a light weight vehicle would put her at if she was in a chase makes her cringe.

Daisy checks her phone again and looks around the bland suburban street. The story and a half wood clad house sits in half an acre of poorly maintained grass. The paint is dreary grey and sits at odds to the other more jauntily coloured houses along the street. Stimson is a neighbourhood for retirees and young families. A quiet, safe neighbourhood with mortgages sitting at the half million mark.

The little house has poor sight lines and overgrown hedges. There is no obvious security of any kind, not even a fence and the front door looks like it is little more than painted plywood. It is the home of someone totally ignorant of the need to secure their home, or someone supremely confident that no matter what walks through their door, they can take it. Daisy has the unsettling feeling that it is the latter.

Throwing back her shoulders Daisy marches towards the door, her FBI badge already in hand.

She knocks briskly and waits with her body turned side on to the entrance, giving her maximum field of vision down the street and on the door. Daisy’s ears perk up as she hears clumsy footsteps come across wooden floors, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’ a young, thick Boston accent calls.

The front door is wrenched open and Daisy lays eyes on her quarry.

She looks every inch the young student her file paints her as. Barely five feet three, dull, poorly maintained brown hair that is cut messily around her ears. She wears cheap jogging pants and an oversized navy jumper. If Daisy didn’t know better, she would assume this young woman was the daughter of the home’s owners, a student at home during the middle of the day and lazing about in sweats.

Daisy does know better. The house is paid up and is in the name of this very woman. Her digital footprint is perfect but too perfect. An orphan at sixteen, emancipated by the state and heir to a huge family trust fund of dubious origin. Funnily enough, her ancestors, as far as Daisy can find digitally and in print, all have similarly tragic but wealthy backgrounds until the records end back in the old country of Ireland in 1922. A tragic fire at the National Records Office in 1922 during the irish civil war supposedly destroyed all other records of anything further back. How convenient.

Maeve Gealladh looks perfectly ordinary and that is exactly what puts Daisy on edge.

“Yes?” Maeve asks guilelessly.

Daisy flashes her badge, “Agent Daisy Coulson. My boss tells me you were expecting me for a chat over tea.”

For a moment Maeve freezes. Her eyes flicker over Daisy as though seeing things that no-one else has ever fathomed. Her dull green eyes flicker for a moment and Daisy has that same feeling of cold trickling down her spine.

Whatever Maeve is, she isn’t a harmless student studying media at Boston college.

“Ah, yes. Please come in,” Maeve answers and then stumbles backwards deeper into the house.

Daisy hesitates for a moment before she follows.

Closing the door quietly, Daisy takes in the house. Dark wooden stairs rise up before her. To her right a sparsely furnished living room with a single sofa and television. No pictures, tables or other hints of personality. The sofa is purple and looks second hand. The floor is dark wood like the stairs and once Daisy hesitantly walks into the living space, she can see the small kitchen that it leads to.

Maeve is filling an electric kettle and setting out mugs.

As Daisy walks hesitantly towards the kitchen Maeve nudges one of two seats at a small table in the centre of the white kitchen’s tiled floor towards her.

“Take a seat. English breakfast, green or fruit tea?” Maeve asks as she opens a cupboard to reveal a small treasure trove of tea.

“Green please,” Daisy replies.

Maeve bends over and retrieves a small metal tea pot from an under sink cupboard.

“I’ll have to use the teapot then to bre the green stuff. I have gotten lazy lately and any old breakfast teabag in a mug will do me. Don’t judge me on my poor taste, I do know good tea from bad and how to brew it.”

Daisy smiles and finds a hesitant chuckle breaking past her lips, “No problem. I know what it’s like to feel too lazy to make proper tea. I usually only bother with the proper way of making it when it’s more than just me drinking the stuff. The fact you aren’t microwaving the water has you a leg up over most American’s anyway.”

Maeve snorts and shakes her head in disgust as she measures out green tea into the metal pot and before the electric kettle reaches boiling point she pours hot water into it.

Maeve carries the pot and a small china mug over to Daisy and sets them before her on what looks like an offcut of wood.

“I assume you’re a purest: no sugar, honey or other insults to that fine brew?” Maeve asks with a raised brow.

Daisy smiles again, “Correct. My birth mother said if you can’t appreciate tea by itself then you shouldn’t be allowed to drink it.”

Maeve nods resolutely, “Wise words them.”

Then as though in insult to this very piece of wisdom Maeve doctors a mug of tea with two teabags, heaps of sugar and full fat milk.

Daisy quirks a brow at the dark brown mug that Maeve sits down with and slurps noisily from.

Maeve smiles impishly, “I said your mum’s words were wise. Not that I was wise.”

Daisy chuckles again, “You remind me of a work colleague I am trying to introduce to tea as a means of breaking her coffee addiction. Unless it is poisoned with sugar, cream or syrup she refuses to drink it, even a decadent cacao chai tea I got for her.”

Maeve smiles, “sounds like my kind of person.”

Silence descends between them.

Daisy casts her eye around at the bland white kitchen. No personal touches again. The places feel hollow and utilitarian.

Daisy watches Maeve who seems completely at ease with the silence. The only interruption is her slurping of her tea.

Usually, silence is one of the greatest tools in an interrogation, but here Daisy thinks that Maeve would quite happily sit in silence until sunset and Daisy is forced to leave for her flight back home.

The word ‘home’ catches Daisy off guard for a moment. When had she started considering the BAU home?

Daisy buries the thought and refocuses on Maeve who watches her with the merest hint of up ticked lips, as though Daisy’s very presence amuses her.

Daisy decided to be blunt. There is a certain type of respect in being honest and unsubtle that she thinks Maeve may appreciate.

“My boss, Coulson, tells me you were involved in an incident last week in New York. He is convinced that you were pushed by circumstances to act but otherwise are a good person. Or at least not a threat to the world. I have learned that my boss is usually a really good judge of character, but he wants my impression before closing the lid on this whole mess.”

Maeve gently sets her tea on the table and circles the large mug with her pale hands. She gazes into the tea as though it holds the answers to all of life’s questions before lifting her eyes off it to offer Daisy a bland but challenging look, “And what exactly would it mean if you didn’t agree to ‘close the lid on this whole mess’ as you put it?”

Daisy hears the faintest of threats in the question, like a lazy dragon teasing a hapless knight.

Daisy senses the thin ground she walks on as she hesitates before shrugging carelessly as though these issues are routine, “It would probably mean around the clock surveillance at least for a while. Phone tapping, a deep dive on your personals, maybe the insertion of a close cover agent to maintain closer surveillance and gauge your personality, threat level, possible weak points etc.”

Rather than take offence or immediately begin making threats, Maeve grimaces and slumps, “That would be tedious. Ask your questions Agent Daisy Coulson.”

Daisy sits forward and lifts the metal teapot. The green tea is surely done infusing now and so she pours herself a large mug, The scent of green tea is fresh and reassuring.

Daisy sips her tea and sighs as the warmth spreads through her, “Ahh. That’s good. So, tell me about the trouble you had last week.”

Maeve sighs and if possible, slouches even more in her seat. Her tone is bored and tired, as though explaining how she put over a hundred people in hospital again is a tedious task.

“Bernadette, a young woman I have an interest in, she was harmed by this gang: the DBD’s. I flew out to New York and ascertained she was well and then I expressed my displeasure with all of the professed members or associates of DBD.”

Daisy notes the careless way Maeve recites the events. No detail, no personal connections. Her description makes the whole incident sound mundane, like she is describing a grocery run rather than a brutal attack on multiple violent offenders.

Daisy nods and sips her tea, “I read the report. Over a hundred men and women in the emergency room with blunt force trauma, broken ribs, jaws, legs, arms and ribs. A couple of dislocated shoulders and knees too. The entire DBD organisation hobbled enough that our projections predict that their territory will be swallowed up by surrounding gangs in less that three days. The DBD are finished. By the time any of their members can walk or hold anything heavier than a glass of water again, newer and more stable gangs will be entrenched.”

Maeve sips her tea and nods, “Law of the jungle: The weak fall and the strong thrive.”

Daisy hums in neither agreement nor disagreement, “What I need is to understand is why you acted when you have been flying under the radar for so long, and how you dismantled a violent urban gang without any civilian casualties or even a single bullet shot?”

Maeve’s lips twist into a crooked grin, “Bernadette is family. She may not know me but one of the two oaths I have ever sworn was to watch over her blood line. As to how I dealt with the members of the DBD, well I think I detect a hint of professional envy Agent Daisy Coulson.”

Something about the idea of sworn oaths tickles the back of Daisy’s mind and brings to the fore a memory of her mission alongside the Asgardian Sif.

Daisy leans back in her seat with a one shouldered shrug and mimics the excessively languid behaviour of Maeve, “I would have just levelled their main hideouts and stash houses. Then I would have hunted down the ones who attacked Bernadette, terrorised them for a confession, shot them full of sedatives and handed them off to the NYPD.”

Maeve nods, “Surgical. Precise, yet you have the potential to be just as destructive as I.”

Daisy cocks a brow, “You broke a few bones, while your ability to act without civilian harm or drawing the attention of the NYPD was impressive, I doubt very much that you can even begin to fathom the destruction I am capable of.”

Maeve laughs then, a sudden and bright sound in the dull kitchen, “Oh Daisy Coulson, your little briefing surely tells you of your agencies concerns. I know the other Coulson certainly grasped enough in our meeting and from my demonstration to know not to underestimate me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. To judge what I am by what you have seen to date is a mistake. An intelligent and intuitive man that Coulson one. He said he wanted me to chat with someone who held as much power as I, so the question is, Who are you Daisy Coulson? Answer that and you may grasp who I am.”

Daisy stiffens slightly. Coulson had seen something in this woman that made him compare her to Daisy. Something that made him think omega. Yet, so far all Daisy has seen is someone with operator training. Exceptionally good but not necessarily powered or if she is then it is limited. Appearances are deceiving though and Maeve is employing typical interrogator tactics by turning the question back on her.

Daisy decides that playing Maeve’s game is the best way to get her answers, “Who am I? I am a tier 10 black ops specialist for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Maeve throws her head back in disgust and for the first-time real anger enters her frame. Maeve’s voice bites back aggressively, “No Daisy Coulson, I don’t want your boring work label. I want to know who it is that could compare to me. Who could make Coulson pause and then look at me with the same eyes of knowing. Who are you?”

Daisy swallows and narrows her eyes as she throws another breadcrumb, “I am an inhuman.”

Maeve waves a hand impatiently and leans forward, “I care not for the Celestial or Kree dabbling that awoke you. Who are you?”

Daisy rears back in surprise at the casual mentioning of the Kree. The origin of the Inhuman race as tools created by the Kree’s experiments to form weapons for their war against the Skrull is a highly classified secret. Something only a handful of people on earth know about. What’s more, Daisy has never heard of these ‘celestials,’ but Maeve seems to be implying they had something to do with the creation of Inhuman’s too. Daisy needs that information, and she needs to know how Maeve knows it.

“What the hell’s a celestial and how do you know about the Kree making inhumans?” Daisy demands as she grips her fists and struggles to keep her powers in check.

Maeve seems to pause for a moment and cocks her head to the side as though she has heard something interesting. Daisy strains her own ears but hears nothing beyond her own suddenly rapid heartrate and the background hum in her head of her powers.

Maeve flicks her head like a dog shaking off water, “The Celestials are irrelevant. A bunch of higher being freedom fighters who planted seeds of potential to amuse themselves. The blue skinned scavengers that are the Kree just exploited what the Celestials left hidden in humanity. I know lots of irrelevant nonsense, now tell me who are you?”

Daisy tucks away this new nugget of information and makes a note to speak to her Afterlife contacts when she can to see if they can corroborate what Maeve has said. The talk of oaths, intimate knowledge of the history of inhumans and her ability to take on multiple adversaries with ease coalesces in Daisy’s mind to a single conclusion that makes her tense, “Are you an Asgardian?”

Daisy feels her heart rate spike. Asgardians are uniquely durable, powerful, long lived and between their inherent strength, their technology and the potential for them to use magic, they present uniquely dangerous foes. Elliot Randolph had been a conscripted Berserker warrior who had remained on earth. He was mostly harmless but had the potential of a WMD if cornered.

Maeve violently pushes back from the table with a disgusted grunt, “Uh, don’t insult me with a comparison to the lazy gilded flowers of the universe.”

Maeve stands and looms across the table glaring at Daisy. Maeve’s slight frame and short stature seems irrelevant now as she slaps her hands on the table causing some of Daisy’s tea to spill out.

Daisy starts in her seat and slowly pushes back from the table as she comes to her feet in response to the threatening body language.

“WHO ARE YOU?” Maeve cries in a guttural demand.

Daisy feels her own anger rising to meet this threat, “What name do you want? I am Daisy Johnson Coulson!”

Maeve swipes her hand across the table and her mug crashes against the kitchen cabinets, “You are no more a Daisy than I am a Lily. Daisies are soft, pretty, common and easily crushed beneath the foot. Who are you? What is your True Name?”

Daisy’s face screws up in confusion as she tries to make sense of Maeve’s question, “I have had lots of names. I am Daisy, but I am also Skyenet.”

Maeve’s aggressive body language drops as though it had never been, and her brows knit in thought as she drops back into her seat, “Skynet. A terminator reference. A classic of course, but implications of a desire for control and of the potential power to destroy humanity.”

Daisy rolls her eyes and drops back to her own seat, “I was fifteen and being emo. It was my hacker handle.”

Maeve smiles as though Daisy has finally done something to interest her, “Sometimes the names we give ourselves are as telling about who we are as the names we gain from others.”

Daisy latches onto the implication, “So what does Maeve say about you?”

Maeve offers a closed mouth smile, “And what makes you think I chose Maeve as my name?”

Daisy grins back easily “Maeve Gealladh just doesn’t fit you. If I tell you who I am, will you return the favour?”

Maeve looks suddenly sad, “Are you sure that is really what you want?”

Daisy nods stubbornly, “For this chat to reach a satisfactory conclusion, for me to put my bosses mind at ease, I think I need to know who and what you are.”

Maeve nods hesitantly with sudden disinclination, “As you wish.”

Daisy sits up in her seat and gazes at her hands, “I am the daughter of a murdered mother and a lost father. I am Quake, and I am The Destroyer of Worlds.”

Maeve watches Daisy with a quizzical look, “How many world’s have you destroyed?”

Daisy hesitates, “Truthfully: one, sort of.”

Maeve nods as though this all makes a terrible amount of sense. When she speaks next her voice sounds older and her Boston accent fades to something more lilting,

“You have told me who you are, so as promised I will return the gesture. I am the daughter of a bloodline long annihilated and reborn to the one who balances life. I am Plague and I am The Slayer of Stars.”

Daisy can feel the capitalisation in those titles, and some part of her mind conjures images of heralds announcing Maeve’s coming with them. Daisy has been on the receiving end of more than a few foreboding titles and epithets over the years so she knows that they do not always mean exactly the things they suggest on the surface. Nevertheless, Maeve’s titles are worrying.

Returning her own question back to her, Daisy falls back on mimicking as she asks, “How many stars have you slayed?”

Maeve smiles as though Daisy’s lack of reaction and bland question has pleased her in some unknown way. She releases a nasally, aborted laugh as she cocks her head to gaze up at Daisy happily. “More than there are grains of sand on the beach, but less than would make it noticeable to any man or god,” she jauntily replies in her returned Boston accent.

This is some kind of word puzzle nonsense. Daisy feels the beginnings of a stabbing headache behind her eyes. She needs Spencer or Fitzsimmons for this philosophical, physics crap.

Daisy rubs her eyes, “That is not the reassuring answer that you seem to think it is.”

Maeve leans back as though Daisy’s words are the punchline to a great joke, “Who said they were meant to be reassuring? I merely answered your question as truthfully as you answered mine.”

Daisy sits forward and skewers Maeve with her hard stare, “Coulson believes you aren’t a threat and I want to agree with him, to jump on a plane back home and forget all about you but you are making that very difficult. This answering a question with a question, vague answer bullshit might work with Coulson who can read people and go with his gut, but I have seen what people with power can do so I need something a bit more concrete. I need some straight answers that don’t make me think you are a threat. You have given me titles that do nothing to set my mind at ease, so I am going to be blunt: what are you and why shouldn’t S.H.I.E.L.D see you as a threat to be monitored or neutralised?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop and the air thickens. Maeve’s smiling face has become granite smooth and expressionless as her dull green eyes stare piteously through Daisy.

Maeve sighs as though bored, “You were being so much fun Daisy. A nice distraction. I thought you could read between the lines more than the other Coulson did but it seems that like him, when it comes to the crunch, you need a more practical demonstration of why S.H.I.E.L.D will be leaving me alone.”

Daisy tenses at those ominous words and she feels her power hum more loudly as she prepares to defend herself.

Maeve rises slowly to her feet and Daisy matches her movements.

The smallest ghost of a smile is the only warning Daisy has before the table separating herself from Maeve splits down the middle and is thrown to opposite sides of the room by an unseen force.

Daisy jumps backwards and blasts a wall of vibrational energy at Maeve…who remains standing and unflinching.

The teapot and mug that Daisy was using has crashed to the floor shattered and now atomises in the backwash of her powers.

“What the…” Daisy begins but cuts her question short as Maeve takes one slow and deliberate step forward.

Daisy lashes out again with her powers and again Maeve remains untouched. The white tile floor beneath Daisy’s feet cracks and splits open. Daisy panics and pushes her power out, a constant stream against Maeve’s chest. The air ripples and pools where Daisy’s power strikes, but Maeve is seemingly unaffected. Her face is impassive.

Maeve takes another slow deliberate step forward and Daisy backs up two steps to maintain distance.

The power Daisy is exuding is enough to level armies and yet Maeve’s hair barely moves as though a light breeze is striking her.

Maeve smiles, “There is a rather large garden behind us. Minimal chance of civilian casualties. I advise you to try harder or I will come across this kitchen and show you what I did to those DBD gang members.”

Daisy can feel her heart pound, this isn’t possible.

Calculating the odds of collateral damage against finding Maeve’s limits, Daisy throws up her second hand and unleashes a deluge of more power.

The tiles beneath her feet, the cabinets and wall behind Maeve disintegrate and blow backwards into the house’s garden.

And still Maeve stands unmoved. Her ridiculous sweats barely rumpled and her face impassive.

Daisy can feel her panic ratchet up another notch. To damage Maeve she may have to unleash even more power but that would definitely cause civilian casualties. This urban environment is not conducive to a powered throw down. If Maeve can take this much power without flinching, then Daisy may need to unleash continent shifting levels of power…maybe more.

Daisy drops her hands and prepares to flee. Maeve might follower her, but she hasn’t shown any sign of being able to fly yet. Coulson is going to have her head for letting this chat get so out of hand.

“Enough!” Maeve says in a commanding voice just as Daisy begins to turn to run. Daisy dives to the side as Maeve’s right hand rises and makes a waving motion as though she is about to release an attack of her own.

Daisy rolls to the side of what is left of the kitchen, she throws her power out as a shield and clenches her eyes shut in preparation for a blow…but nothing happens. No force, no heat, no wave of energy as she was expecting.

Daisy drops her power and opens her eyes. Her mouth drops open.

The kitchen is perfect. The back wall reformed, the kitchen cabinets untouched, Maeve’s chair sitting idle, the split table stands in the middle of the room on a whole tile floor and even Daisy’s tea and teapot rests innocuously unharmed.

Maeve smirks and walks back around the table, back to her seat.

She throws herself back into her seat and reaches out to her mug of tea. The mug of tea she threw across the room. It is whole and curls of steam rise from the dark liquid.

Daisy shakily rises to her feet and cautiously approaches her chair.

She lays her hand on the chair. It feels solid and rough beneath her hand. She sits slowly and reaches out to her teapot. It feels hot and heavy. Fresh, green tea flows out and into her mug. Daisy lifts the mug, she examines it closely, sniffs the tea and finally takes a sip.

It is real.

Her hands spread across the once again whole table and then she meets the laughing eyes of Maeve.

“An illusion? You implanted the entire confrontation into my mind? Or maybe some form of localised chronal manipulation?” Daisy speculates. Daisy is quite proud that her voice does not shake.

Maeve slurps her tea unconcerned, “No illusions. No mental manipulation. No tinkering with time. I simply have dominion over all that falls beneath my hand.”

Daisy crooks an eyebrow, “That is not an answer. In fact, that makes you sound like a god.”

Maeve rocks her head from side to side, “It is as close to an answer as you are ever going to get. I would certainly not call myself a god but by some definitions I suppose I would be categorised as such.”

Daisy’s mind stalls out on that none answer, “So how does that not make you a threat?”

Maeve smiles, “What need have I to harm anyone who cannot harm me? I only went after the DBD because they harmed one under my protection.”

Daisy narrows her eyes as she tries to fathom this alien logic, “So you have all this power, and you have no desire to use it? No hidden agenda or Machiavellian scheme for dominion over the earth? You just want to protect those you swore an oath to? Like, how does that even happen anyway, because I could do with a badass guardian goddess to kick butt for me from time to time.”

Maeve laughs softly, “Why would I seek Dominion over what I can already control if I choose to? The effort seems wasted, and ruling would mean a lot of fighting, speeches and less time to read and watch my shows. As to how I ended up swearing my oaths…that is an old tale and a private one.”

Daisy’s mouth hangs open and she splutters, “You mean that you have no plans for world domination because it would interfere with your reading and watching HBO?”

Maeve nods as she sips her tea, “Now you are getting it. Although, my second oath holds my leash too.”

“And what is that oath if I dare to ask?”

“You have already dared to insult my taste in tea and to destroy my kitchen Agent Daisy Coulson. I think there is little you would not dare to do. My second oath was given to the one whose bloodline I defend due to my first oath. It states that I will not ever be the monster I once was.”

Daisy ruminates on the words and swallows her automatic comment that the obvious loophole to that oath is to become a worse monster rather than the more controlled thing that sits before her. Daisy doesn’t think pointing that out would be a good idea.

Daisy nods and makes a dramatic show of letting out a relieved sigh, “You seem to take your oaths seriously so that would mean S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t have to worry about you as a threat. I take it you have no interest in maybe fighting the good fight with us?”

Maeve smirks, “Inviting a neutral force to start considering what counts as a ‘good’ fight is a dangerous path to walk. I think I will stick to my quiet life reading and bothering none but those who bother me.”

Daisy swallows around a dry throat. If Maeve has remained out of the power plays and politics of the world for this long, then perhaps it is best not to tempt fate. And gods help any idiot who stumbles across her and thinks to strong arm her into aiding them.

“Right. Cool,” Daisy nods emphatically.

Maeve drains the last of her tea and rises.

Daisy knows a dismissal when she sees it.

She walks alongside Maeve through the minimalist sitting room, “Do you mind if I ask what happened with Coulson that convinced him you weren’t a threat?”

Maeve nods with a smile, “We had a verbal dual about the use of power and accountability. Then I prodded and poked him until he agreed to shoot me with his silly sedative gun. When the full clip did nothing, I challenged him to shoot me for real. I vanished the bullets before they reached me and then rematerialized them back inside his gun. “

Daisy is thoroughly freaked out at this casual discussion of power. A discussion that Coulson did not put in his report beside his speculation of Maeve’s Omega status. At the same time, Daisy can’t help the snort of laughter at the image of the confused and flabbergasted Coulson trying to shoot someone and being so casually dismissed.

They reach the door and Daisy steps back out into the fresh, crisp air, “Goodbye Maeve. I wish you well and hope we have no reason to cross paths again in the future.”

Maeve nods silently and allows Daisy to walk halfway back to her car before calling out, “Daisy?”

Daisy turns back to see Maeve watching her almost sadly, “A piece of advice Daisy, as one powerful individual to another. I was young, confident and idealistic like you once, but the truth of the universe is that there is always a bigger fish out there, there is always someone stronger. There is always another war to fight and another cause to champion. It is fine to fight, but if you find a place, a person you can be content with – then cling to it. Define what you will protect and what you need to be happy and then stand your ground and bask in the happiness you can find there.”

Daisy hesitates for a moment, the team in the BAU bullpen and a certain blond communications liaison flashes in her mind’s eye. Daisy nods solemnly and spins on her heal as she marches back to the Prius.

As Daisy pulls away from the house and whips out her phone to call Coulson, Daisy can’t help but wonder just how old Maeve is and how long she has been keeping those oaths.

When she get’s back to the BAU she really needs to ask Spencer what the name Maeve means. That is the sort of thing he would know.

* * *

The end.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

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